Meanwhile, the Crimson Scorpion was roaming the center of Jeju Island, heading toward the northern sector.
He had already scoured the western, eastern, and southern regions surrounding the center of the island, yet he found no sign of Experiment No. 000002546—from Group D—nor any clue as to her whereabouts.
Her disappearance without a trace, following the killing of Edward—an act witnessed by the world during the second quarter of the first day of the examination—had caused them considerable unease.
The person in charge of the experiments—the very individual who kept pressuring them to bring her in—was demanding her capture with growing urgency. After several failed attempts to seize her over the past few months, they sought to place a new "servitude seal" upon her heart; the previous one had been nullified when Yuto—having taken possession of Yuta Casiral's body—ripped his own heart out.
This only added to their frustration, as they did not wish to capture her in a way that would amount to a public abduction.
The time was not yet ripe to utilize her to bolster their own strength, or that of the man overseeing the experiments—a man responsible for the deaths of billions of six-year-old children, all sacrificed in the name of his research.
Nevertheless, uncovering the twins' activities and gauging their power level had become absolutely critical; Yuta Casiral and his other half were growing stronger by the day.
Should this continue, containing them would become so difficult that it might eventually necessitate the intervention of the Scorpion organization's high-ranking leadership. As the leader of the mission tasked with engaging the students and professors—and the one currently overseeing Versalkin Academy until the arrival of reinforcements led by the 5th-ranked commander of the Supreme Council, "Scorpion of Shadow and Light"—the "Crimson Scorpion" was required to check on the status of Experiment No. 000002546 from Group D (specifically, sub-groups 1.1 and 1.2)—or, to use Yuta's own term, his "other half."
His presence on Jejua Island for this purpose was a significant nuisance to him. According to the information at his disposal, this "other half" was a female holding the rank of "Sacred Ruler," capable of manifesting the "Wing of Blessing"—an ability that would boost her power by two full ranks.
This posed a difficult predicament should a conflict arise between them; while he held the rank of "Higher Demonic Ruler," his other half would surpass him in strength the moment she activated her wing.
Furthermore, Yuta's own power level remained an unknown variable. His "other half" had been under constant surveillance since her birth nine years prior, overseen by an experiment supervisor known as the "Black and White Scorpion."
Consequently, there was no concern regarding the possibility of her escape; she was being monitored around the clock.
Yuta, however, was a different matter entirely. Ever since he departed the estate of the Count of Caseral—an event that also saw the death of the Count, Yamirzas Caseral, at his hands—information regarding him had become scarce.
In the months following the Count's death, the House of Caseral saw its status decline from that of a Count's lineage to a mere Baronial house.
As a result, the flow of information concerning Yuta ceased from that point forward, rendering him an unknown threat to the "Scorpion" organization. An unknown enemy is a hundred times more dangerous than a known one. No matter how powerful an adversary may be, identifying them often reveals a way to stop them; an unknown enemy, however, is far more difficult—and perilous—to contend with.
Brismail's movements were quiet, though tinged with a sense of unease. He held no affection for the "Black and White Scorpion," even though the latter was a leader within the Scorpion Organization's council.
Brismail served under the council's leader—the "Scorpion of Shadow and Light," known as the Fifth Scorpion—rather than the Black and White Scorpion, who was the Third Scorpion.
His aversion went beyond mere personal dislike; it stemmed from the fact that the Third Scorpion's subordinates lived in comfort while overseeing an organization that conducted experiments on humans and other entities—both in the ordinary world and across various other realms.
They carried out these experiments under controlled conditions with virtually no risk to themselves, all while monitoring "Subject 000002546" from Group D—the prized specimen of the Third Scorpion.
Brismail paused for a moment, scanning his surroundings with intense vigilance. Suddenly, a worm several meters long burst forth from a desert-themed dungeon.
The creature had been trailing him for some time, but he dispatched it with effortless ease, then continued on his way as if nothing had happened.
Within the confines of Gigua Island—a place teeming with dungeons of every rank—lowering one's guard would almost certainly mean death. In this land, one must keep their defenses up at all times—never letting them falter—unless one desires death, in which case, the only outcome would be a pathetic end.
Monsters will kill you if they attack you directly; the only exception is if you are nothing more than a pile of excrement.
During his quest to locate Subject No. 000002546 from Group D, Prismil clashed with numerous monsters, students, and professors. By his hand, twenty students and six professors met their end, and he successfully repelled four waves of monsters.
Had he not brought along several high-level potions—for strength enhancement, recovery, and healing—he would surely be in a wretched state, waiting for death at any moment.
"It seems they are in the northern sector of the Jigua Island hub; I've searched the entire eastern side and found nothing."
"Not much further to go to reach the northern part of Jigua Island. Vast plains are far better than these craggy slopes—this is truly irritating."
"Even if he is one of the leaders of the Third Council, couldn't he search for his own 'subject'? He's the sole beneficiary, yet here we are, sacrificing our own subordinates for his sake! What a piece of filth!"
Prismil muttered in annoyance, reflecting on the reason for his presence here—though he dared not voice such thoughts to the man's face.
After all, even commoners might insult an emperor behind his back; how much more likely is it for someone to speak ill of a leader within this organization?
As the Jigua Island hub is divided into four distinct sectors, each possesses its own unique terrain.
The northern sector is characterized by expansive plains and open, sweeping landscapes. The eastern side consists of rugged slopes that provide cover for ambushes; consequently, extreme caution and vigilance were essential for survival.
The western side is forested, characterized by scattered woodlands separated by distances spanning several kilometers, while the southern side is frozen, making travel there exceptionally difficult.
Furthermore, moving between regions with vastly different climates—ranging from temperate tropical to arid and cold—often led to serious illnesses for those who stayed in these areas.
This only added to Prismil's irritation; he had traversed all these regions, battling countless monsters across diverse and harsh environments.
It was only logical, then, that he should harbor a grudge against the leader of the Third Council—the "Black and White Scorpion."
Prismil's eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled hearing that Reinhardt was on his way; yet, he had not arrived, nor did his arrival seem imminent.
This stood in stark contrast to the leader of the Fifth Council—the "Shadow and Light Scorpion"—who was already in the vicinity of Gigua Island.
"How did the leader of the Third Council—who is weaker than Reinhardt de Moliar—arrive before him? Something is amiss. Is Reinhardt intentionally delaying his arrival, or is there another reason?"
He pressed on; it was not his place to ask such questions—doing so might well cost him his life, leaving no one to ever know what had become of him.
Sometimes, silence—refraining from asking questions and leaving the unknown, well, unknown—is the best way to survive in this world.
In this world, as in any other, knowledge grants those who rule the power to pull the strings from behind the curtain.
As for those whose standing is untethered to such knowledge, their fate is often nothing more than an end—total annihilation. Ultimately, it is the clever who rule, not the strong.
No matter how powerful an individual may be, they can easily fall if they are foolish—brought down by their own hubris and arrogance.
Prismil was well aware of this; throughout his service within an organization as dictatorial as "The Scorpion," he had witnessed many perish simply because of their own curiosity. Some of them had been his friends and loved ones; all he could do now was remember them, while they had ended up in the underworld, suffering the consequences of their actions.
Prismil took a deep breath as he gazed out over the vast plains on the northern side of Gigua Island.
The open terrain was well-suited for direct combat, and the risk of treacherous ambushes was significantly lower—though that did not mean things would go smoothly.
He had lost the element of surprise, and he remained vulnerable to the relentless, unending waves of monsters.
"Well, well. Life doesn't give you everything, does it? Still, reaching these vast plains—and staying alive this long—is an achievement in itself."
Prismil spoke with a sense of relief, continuing his search for "Subject No. 000002546" from Group D.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he caught sight of a group of colossal Minotaurs, each standing 6.45 meters tall.
There were twelve adult Minotaurs in the group, currently occupied with a meal. Prismil decided to ignore them and move away—not out of fear, but because he saw no point in engaging in an unnecessary fight.
To him, fighting every monster that crossed his path wasn't a sign of courage; it was sheer foolishness. One should fight when necessary, and retreat whenever the opportunity arises.
This had been Prismil's guiding principle throughout his life: to act with courage and fight with a strong, determined will—but without a solid foundation, such a mindset was nothing more than folly. If one lacks a solid foundation and a high chance of victory, the only sensible course of action is to flee and seek a way to survive; after all, honor and reputation cannot bring the dead back to life.
Prismil tore a rift in space-time, creating a portal that deposited him just a few meters away from the scene.
Stepping through the portal, a look of relief washed over his face as he surveyed the ground, which was littered with the carcasses of monsters of various species and origins.
These creatures had emerged from dungeons that had erupted sporadically—a clear sign that Subject 000002546 (from Group D) and Subjects 1.1 and 1.2 had been here.
Sensing their lingering energy in the air, he moved directly toward the nearest corpse: a giant bear, roughly the size of an SUV.
He examined the wounds on the beast, noting that they had targeted vital areas—the fight had been executed with surgical precision. There were only a few wounds—three shallow gashes—yet they had been more than enough to end the battle.
"The blood is still warm, and the carcass, too. They're close. It seems Subject 000002546 (Group D) and Subjects 1.1 and 1.2 were here."
Prismil's tone remained calm as he inspected the bear's blood.
He stood up and scanned the ground for footprints, but found no trace—a discovery that only added to his growing frustration.
He had assumed that tracking them down would be easy, but reality, it seemed, had other plans. Prismil continued on his way, grumbling slightly, before removing his face covering to reveal his features. He then drew a cigar from his dimensional space, placed it in his mouth, and ignited it using the element of fire.
Taking a deep breath, Prismil exhaled a cloud of high-quality cigar smoke, attempting to clear his mind of the events that had unfolded in such a short span of time.
In just twelve hours, so much had transpired: some individuals had evolved, others had perished, and many more were still fighting desperately to stay alive.
The world watched, helpless to intervene, as students—not yet fifteen—and young people in the prime of their lives met their ends.
Life does not grant everyone the same standing; one is either the master of the game or merely a pawn, expendable at any moment.
The world is simple—much like a game of chess—consisting of only two roles: the one who controls, and the piece being controlled.
Yet, if you look closer, you realize that even the "king" who rules over all is, in the end, just another chess piece, manipulated by the player.
Not every king is truly a king, and not every slave is truly a slave. The one in actual control might be the very last person you would suspect—or perhaps someone else entirely.
The same holds true for Prismil; despite his position as a mission leader, he is ultimately nothing more than a subordinate, directed by those at the pinnacle of the Council's hierarchy—those who hold greater authority than he does. Prismil remained hyper-alert with every step he took, monitoring wind patterns, fluctuations in the atmosphere's energy, and any sign that might betray the presence of danger.
He was completely exposed, devoid of any protection, while both beasts and masters lay in wait—poised to pounce at the slightest misstep.
Though he had come as a hunter, intent on killing members of the Verselkin Academy, he was simultaneously the prey—hunted by those he had set out to hunt—all while the island of Jigwa tightened its relentless grip upon him.
The moment Prismil closed his eyes—letting out a sigh with a cigar held in his right hand—an axe, several times larger than him, came hurtling toward his head, aiming to sever it.
Prismil dodged the axe with fluid ease, then placed the cigar back between his lips.
He muttered with mild annoyance, kicking the attacking orc squarely in the solar plexus and sending him flying several meters backward.
"Honestly? Is even sighing forbidden on this wretched island? A surprise attack meant to kill me in a single blow... quite interesting for an orc."
The orc glared at Prismil, let out a thunderous roar, and leveled his axe at him.
"You'll die, you filthy human!"
The orc charged toward Prismil, who appeared entirely indifferent to his presence.
"Pathetic. So, you're that desperate to die? Very well—as you wish."
Prismil vanished from the spot with the speed of light.
Bewilderment washed over the orc's face; he stopped in his tracks and began looking around.
"Where did that scoundrel go? Did he run off, or...?"
The orc's initial irritation and indignation were instantly replaced by shock. Feeling a sudden, intense chill, he turned around—only to find Prismil staring back at him with a cold, detached gaze.
In a fraction of a second, the orc was encased in a block of ice, which then shattered into a fine mist of frost, scattering into the air.
With a look of mockery in his eyes, Prismil simply continued on his way, as if nothing had happened. Dwelling on every death does not necessarily make one wise; in fact, it can turn a person into a fool if they remain fixated on every loss. Therefore, one must keep moving forward, no matter how harsh or difficult life may become.
As for victory and defeat—or achievements, whether great or trivial—they should be viewed merely as steps to be traversed and left behind, not as destinations where one lingers, boasting at every passing second.
Prismil paused, his eyes fixed on two figures standing three kilometers away.
They were a young man and a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to each other; both had long, white hair reaching down to their lower backs, crimson eyes, and were dressed in practical black attire.
Prismil spoke, his voice tinged with surprise; something, it seemed, was amiss.
"Subject No. 000002546 from Group D is here—but where is the other half? They ought to be together at this moment."
"And yet, I see Gia Guilford—your adopted son, that wretch! How could this be? Is the information incorrect? Perhaps... Gia's power has already reached the rank of 'Master Ruler.' A fifteen-year-old girl attaining such a terrifying level of strength!"
"This implies either that the information is wrong, or that there is something I am unaware of. We have never even seen what the other half of Subject No. 000002546 from Group D looks like. Only the leaders of the Council of Twelve, along with the leader and founder of the organization—the venerable 'Heaven-Shatterer'—know her true appearance."
"Are they dating, or what?" "A girl and a boy, all alone... what the hell are they going to do?"
Prismil was quite annoyed; he had found Yuta Caseral—or, as he was officially designated, Subject No. 000002546 from Group D—but he had hoped to locate his other half as well.
Finding both would have made their capture and containment much simpler, yet the identity of the other half remained unknown.
Given that Gia was currently at the Sovereign Ruler rank—and showed no signs of having undergone a "burnout" process anytime recently—Prismil concluded that she must have already attained this rank before arriving on Gigua Island.
In contrast, Yuta's other half was still at the rank of Sacred Ruler—placing them two minor ranks and one major rank below Gia.
For this reason, he didn't immediately assume that Gia was Yuta's other half; there were several discrepancies between the intelligence he had on Gia Guilford and the information regarding Yuta's counterpart.
Having completed his mission—which was limited to observing the subject from a distance without taking any further action—Prismil vanished.
Elsewhere, Gia and Yuta sat resting after having fought off several waves of monsters.
Yuta glanced toward the spot from which Prismil had been watching just moments before, then shifted his gaze to Gia, who had also sensed the presence of an observer.
She chose not to engage, however. The gap in their power levels wasn't significant—especially after what Yuta had told her earlier about individuals who conceal their true strength, and about "wings" that could boost one's rank by two levels for a limited duration.
And so, she decided to simply ignore it. He might possess a secondary wing, much like hers, but he keeps it hidden—reserving it as a trump card for when it's truly needed.
A mocking smile curled Yuta's lips. He placed his hand on Jiya's thigh, and electric shocks surged through both of their bodies.
Yet, an amused smile remained on his face, even as he endured pain that would have been unbearable—even for him. This left Jiya bewildered, as the sharp, searing agony was tearing through her entire being.
She brushed his hand away from her thigh with clear irritation. A glint of mischief flickered in his eyes, and he spoke with a tone of pure mockery:
"Don't worry. In this fantasy world, no being is capable of passing on their wings to another; even the most powerful entities have never managed to transcend the second level of their wings."
"That is precisely why they cannot bequeath them—unlike Normana, the wielder of the 'Wing of Blessing,' who reached the absolute pinnacle of wing evolution."
As she listened to Yuta, Jiya's expression—and her heart—reflected a complex mix of relief, doubt, and bewilderment.
"And what level have you reached with your own wings, oh 'Great Outcast'—the 'Supreme Creator'?"
"I am currently at the fourth level of my wings."